La Belle Dame Sans Merci
by Frankiesmypansy
Summary: Cas finds a way to throw Lucifer back into the pit without harming Dean or Sam...Dean doesn't like the plan. Not one bit.


**La Belle Dame Sans Merci**

Dean stretched from his place at the oddly shaped motel table. The chair was generic in everything except comfort. It ranked in the top three least comfortable chairs Dean's ever had the misfortune to sit in. Dean's slight grunt as the tension is released from his muscles causes Castiel to glance up at him in brief acknowledgement. Then Cas is right back to the pages they've been grueling over for the past eight and half hours. Sam takes Dean's stretching and mild mumbling under his breath as a cue to venture into the makeshift kitchen set up by the motel's bathroom sink. He pours Dean the last of the coffee, and starts another pot to brew. They're on their last complimentary package.

They've been at this for hours, and before today they'd been searching for these scrolls for a month. It's been a long trek, and though Dean can feel this laughably huge weight pressing in the center of his chest every time he thinks of the apocalypse, he's so close he can nearly taste it. They'd gotten the tip from one of Bobby's friends, a nameless hunter who, if Dean, Sam, and Cas succeed, can tell his buddies that he played a role in stopping the apocalypse. There were rumors of a set of books saved from the burning of the Library of Alexandria, that dated even further back to the time of Babylon that were filled with knowledge that would make shutting down the apocalypse child's play. Cas had said it was more than possible that a wayward soul had saved one of the books from the burning library, which it turns out was an intentional act on the Angel's part, apparently all of that knowledge in one place was making the colony upstairs uneasy. Cas had said it was probable. That's why Dean had packed up the Impala without even so much as a question to why this hadn't been Cas' first idea. Sam followed suit. Within the hour Dean, Sam, and Cas were shipping off. A somber looking Bobby Singer gave them one wave as they pulled out onto the interstate.

It'd taken them a month. A grueling, excruciating, tedious, bloody month to find where some not-so-lowly demon had been charged with keeping the books from the Angel's prying eyes. Apparently the underworld didn't underestimate newly reinstated Castiel. Still, they were unprepared. Not only was Cas able to pin-point the demon and books exact location, but Cas had ended up smiting the demon. No questions were asked. No consulting on maybe trying to coax a name out of the demon for whoever was calling the shots on this particular hellish escapade. No. Cas had gone inside a little warehouse, why it's always warehouses, Dean will never know, but he went inside the and slammed the demon into the cement floor, exercising the demon; done with so little emotion that Dean refused to look back on the scene. If he pondered on the sound of the poor meat-suit's skull cracking on the concrete too long, he'd realize that that aspect of Cas' capability scared the Holy Hell out of him. Sam had given Dean a sideways, private, glance that had conveyed in a split second the exact fear that Dean was experiencing. This Cas is the one that would have willfully killed Sam before they'd become friends; wouldn't have hesitated throwing Dean back into Hell if his superiors demanded it. Dean saw Sam physically shake himself from those thoughts, and rush forward to the stack of very old, yellowed scrolls. For some reason, even though Dean knew very well that in ancient Babylon they didn't have a printing press, he is still shocked by how ancient they look in the hands of his giant of a brother. So fragile, they might crumble under pressure. That notion was quickly washed away by Cas. He'd made his way towards Sam and Dean, gently, but firmly taken the scrolls from Sam. He then stretched out both of his hands, reaching for their respective foreheads. In a nauseating flash they're all back in the motel room. And so the reading began.

Dean gladly takes the cup of coffee that Sam offers him, and looks longingly at the bed that seems to be beckoning him.

"Dean. If you wish to sleep, I am more than capable of continuing on my own" Cas offered, a look of slight concern across his brow, "I realize that humans have needs that I do not. Sleep. Eat. I will wake you if I find something."

Cas gives the same concerned glance to Sam, then an encouraging nod. Sam seems all too pleased to take Cas up on his offer. Even with his love of learning, his passion for the research aspect of his job, this past month has drained him emotionally as well as physically. He's ready for some much earned rest and relaxation. Sam makes a bee-line for the bathroom, scooping up his bag along the way. Great, now Dean will have to wait half an hour, at least, before he can shower. Screw it, he thinks, I'm sleeping like this. He trudges to the bed, crawls under the slightly rough blankets, clicks off his bedside lamp, and within moments he's drifting steadily towards deep sleep. He knows there will be dreams of Hell. There almost always are nowadays, but he also knows that if things get too bad, Cas will work that magic they've both been so quiet about, tiptoeing around the fact that they are both quite aware it's Cas who nightly banishes the dreams.

Cas' eyes follow Dean on his journey to the bed, and under the covers. He presumes it will never cease to amaze him, the act of sleep. It's something very hard for an Angel of the Lord to comprehend. Seems like a pleasant enough act. With Cas' acutely tuned senses, he can literally feel every individual muscle, as it relaxes and gives into sleep. He continues to watch Dean's breathing even out into a more steady rhythm for what he's sure is only a few moments, but then he hears the shower click off. Cas' gaze drifts back to the scrolls at hand. It's prudent that he finds this answer. Dean Winchesters' life may very well depend on it.

He finds it as Sam Winchester is drying his hair with a white generic motel towel. He doesn't shout out in revelation, he grips the scroll a little tighter. His tense relief must have been palpable to Sam's more psychic senses because he pauses in his nightly routine to look up at Cas. Castiel meets his eyes, and Sam knows. Both shift to look at Dean's freshly sleeping form underneath the green and brown comforter.

"Let him sleep."

"Yeah, he needs it. Especially since the stubborn bastard will insist on driving."

At this easy exchange of words with Sam, Cas feels his vessel relax, his grace glow mildly warmer than it has in a little over a month, and a small smile glide across his lips. It's almost over. He probably won't make it out of this ritual alive, but the important thing is: Dean and Sam Winchester will live.

They've gone over the passage. Castiel doesn't bother trying to explain the ancient text in too much detail, because he already knows that it must be done. That the moral compasses of Dean and his brother are too strong to actually condone something with this much blood to be spilled. Time is running out, and it's the only option Castiel has if he wants to get the Winchesters through this mostly unharmed. He omits a few things here and there. They'll know soon enough. Without very many words, but many meaningful looks, the trio piled into the Impala. Dean insisted that something of this magnitude can't be Angel-juiced into. They're driving to Montana.

Usually Sam would be riding shotgun, simply because he has seniority, which makes Dean chuckle a little to himself, because, well the idea of his _younger_ brother having seniority over an Angel is worthy of a chuckle. But not today, today Sam is snoozing in the back. He insisted on it

"I didn't get a 7 hour nap, like some people." He'd teased Dean.

Dean doesn't mind. Driving is cathartic for him. Castiel is a surprisingly good co-pilot. Dean doesn't mind the intense looks he gets on occasion; he's used to those by now. Not once does he complain about the volume, or the content of the cassettes Dean plays, which Sam usually does every couple hours or so. It's refreshing, and before he knows it, he's crossed over into Montana. Castiel tenses almost imperceptibly. Almost, but Dean catches it. He catches the slight electrical jump Sam's psyche gets from Cas' unintentional power surge, and he feels the engine of the Impala whir-click in a way he's never heard it sound before. The cassette jumps to the next song, which for a CD isn't weird, but for a cassette, it's darn near impossible. Cas is nervous. That's the first sign Dean takes, not the first one he's given, but the first one he takes. A foreboding ominous feeling settles into his stomach. He isn't going to like what Cas is going to have to do. Nope, not one bit.

"Get up, Sammy." Dean shakes Sam's knee and pats his face lovingly, encouraging him out of slumber. "We're here. We gotta help. We gotta help Cas."

Sam can hear the unmasked worry in his brother's voice, that kind of worry that Dean used to only show for Sammy. Sam's not the least bit jealous, as he thought he would be after first realizing how Cas had become a sort of brother, family. Sam doesn't begrudge Castiel anything at all after meeting Cas' brothers and sisters. It's no wonder Cas' prefers time with Sam's brother. He is well aware that he's lucked out in that aspect of the family department. He clambers out of the back of the Impala to see exactly where their own personal guardian Angel has taken them.

It's the middle of nowhere. Literally there probably isn't a town around for 100 miles. That's good. Anything that can throw Lucifer back into the cage will have enough force to knock some things down here on earth. Better to be out in the country where the only thing they'll harm is a few rocks and rabbits. The sun is shining and they can hear several different kinds of birds singing, chirping in the surrounding trees. Dean briefly muses that this is the type of place painters wish for. This place could be one of the muses, except Castiel was kneeling before an uncannily smooth and massive boulder. He seems to be running his hands over the thing without actually touching it. His eyes are intense, focused. Sam turns his gaze on his brother and sees that Dean is looking just as intently at their friend. It's clear to him that Dean is worried. Something about the way Cas gets up off of his knees, clasps Dean's shoulder, and makes his way to the trunk of the Impala, briefly running his hand over Sam's shoulder, that isn't right. Cas has never understood human contact to the extent that a, well that a human would. Cas had lived most of his life incorporeal. There really wasn't room for touching. The fact that he'd made an effort to now, before this big rite made Sam frown.

Dean followed Cas back to the Impala to pop open the trunk. It's full of the usual weapons; sawed off shotguns, pistols, Rambo knives, pocket knives, rope, and a cross bow, salt, and something that neither Dean nor Sam had placed there; something that made Dean's breath hitch: an Angel's sword. Realization hit Dean like a semi. That weight on his chest increased until he felt like he was going to have a heart attack. No. He's not okay with this. Castiel has sacrificed a lot of things for the Winchesters, but not himself. Dean tells himself that he won't let him, but a small voice inside Dean's head tells him he's going to do just that. Cas' eyes meet his. Dean knows it's necessary, like Jo and Ellen were necessary. Yeah, it hurt. It still hurts, but they died for a good cause. They died a hunter's death. Still, Dean tries.

"Cas, you know you don't—we don't expect—this is too much, even by our standard of loyalty."

"You know that, right Cas, that we would never in a million years ask this of you?"

"It is not your decision to make, Sam, nor yours, Dean. I understood the risks I took when I decided to follow you into freewill." Castiel's mouth turned up at the corners at the word 'freewill' like it was an amusing joke. "God gave me a length of rope. He wanted me to hang myself with it."

"That's not right, Cas. It's not right." Dean feels the back of his eyes sting. His heart is clenching. He doesn't know how he can stand another minute of Castiel's goodbye, and yet, he doesn't want it to ever end.

"Dean."

That one word spoken from Castiel's otherworldly gravel voice, and Dean lost his composure. A small sob wracked his frame, and tears finally won their battle, falling across his freckled cheeks like little fast flowing streams. Seeing this unbreakable man cry for him, for his existence, Castiel feels his grace glow, can feel his human skin emitting a soft light, his eyes filled with adoration, acceptance, love, belonging, affection.

"Fret not my dearest Winchesters, when the Lord returns and we are rewarded for our loyalty to Heaven, to each other, I am positive we will meet again."

They clasped each others' shoulders, and Dean gave Castiel an almost biblical kiss on his right cheek, then Sam did the same. The next moments were a blur for the brothers. One moment they're in the midst of an almost tender goodbye; the next Castiel is kneeling again at the rock. There are Enochian sigils glowing there on the earth itself as well as the surrounding boulders, and in the distance they can hear the wind pick up; a crackle roll of thunder cry out. A cloud passes over the sun as Cas draws his heavenly sword, and no birds sing.


End file.
